


Weathering This Storm

by MistyMay2503



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Banter, Drama, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fights, Fluff and Angst, MaKorra, Romance, Sexual Tension, tahnorra
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25797298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyMay2503/pseuds/MistyMay2503
Summary: “Who said there are no rules?” The storm is close and the promise of rain makes her fingers tremble.“Come now, Korra, we both know rules are just holding you back.” She turns to see he is already looking at her, gray eyes stoic and knowing and she wonders if he realizes just how much they actually have in common: the ice wielding probender and the confine escaping, curfew breaking, boyfriend kissing Avatar. If only he knew how many rules she has already broken just to be here, just to weather this storm with him. Maybe he does, or maybe he suspects. And even though breaking the rules isn’t how she usually likes to operate, she won't deny the appeal.Tahnorra, Private Lessons (Set During Book 1)
Relationships: Korra/Tahno (Avatar)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 60





	1. Before

Chapter 1: Before

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Korra,” Mako stammers, “that guy is a total creep.” He stands across from her in the sticky gym. She can tell he’s trying to remain levelheaded, but his hands are balled into impossibly tight fists, and okay, maybe he’s right. Tahno is a total creep, but the firebender had barely even listened to her reasoning before condemning the whole plan, and she has a sneaking suspicion that behind his seemingly platonic concern there is jealousy twisting in the pit of his stomach.

“This is our best chance to get some intel before the finals,” she reasons, “I’ll be fine, really.” Her words do absolutely nothing to placate him, instead he moves his fingers to pinch his temple and let’s out a frustrated sigh.

“Mako’s right, Tahno is bad news,” Bolin interjects carefully before Mako has the chance. The younger brother chews his words carefully, trying to walk a thin line between concern and condemnation. “How do you know he’s not just playing you?”

“You don’t,” Mako answers for her, hands falling dramatically to his sides, “Don’t be stupid, Korra, he’s obviously just trying to use you to get to us.”

 _Us?_ She wonders if he is referring to the team or to their own complicated relationship. Either way, why should he even care? But they both know this isn’t the first time Mako has interjected himself into her personal life. Just last week he stared down a very nice young man that offered to buy her a coffee, and if she’s being completely honest, she’s sick of the fatherly bullshit.

“I can take care of myself,” she fires back. The more the brothers are trying to persuade her the more annoyed she is getting because do they honestly think that little of her? Besides, they don’t get to dictate how she spends her time outside the arena. Bolin recognizes her tone as a warning and raises his hands in defeat, smart enough to fear an angry Avatar, but Mako was never any good at taking a hint.

“This isn’t about you,” he tries again, more carefully this time, hoping to level with her, to knock some sense into her “It’s about our chances in the finals.” His tone is even, but she can hear the cracks in it, the barely concealed anger, and she wonders how much of it is about the tournament at all.

“That’s exactly why I have to go. What better way to beat the enemy than by training with them?”

“Any what if Tahno is thinking the same thing?” he fires back. _What if you’re walking right into his trap? What if this is exactly what he wants you to do?_

“Maybe he is,” she shrugs, “But at least we’ll come out even.” And then she’s throwing her gym bag over her shoulder and giving Pabu a goodbye scratch.

“You’re not going, Korra,”

“Says who?” she challenges, balling her fists until her nails are digging half moon crescents into her palm.

“Says me,” he gulps, and he knows he’s gotten himself in deep trouble, because her eyes are alive with rage. Her body is quivering when she takes a final warning step towards him.

“Oh, really? Because you’re not my dad, Mako,” she spits “and you sure as hell aren’t my boyfriend, so what makes you think you can tell me what to do?” His face contorts, and she can see her own confusion mirrored in his honey eyes because deep down he knows that she is right, but he can’t keep the knots out of his stomach when he thinks of Tahno’s hands all over her. Even the thought of him just looking at her, raking his eyes over her, makes him want to puke, and maybe that’s why he doubles down and digs his own grave.

“You are not going and that’s final.” He moves himself decisively between her and the exit, and she could almost laugh at how brazen he is being. This is obviously not about the tournament anymore, it never was really, it’s about her, about wanting to make sure nobody else can have her, and even though it shouldn’t matter, his jealousy fuels a fire in her because _even when you’re with her, you’re thinking about me, aren’t you?_

She quirks an eyebrow dangerously at him, “And _you’re_ going to stop me, Tough Guy?” Before he has a chance to react, she’s bending the earth below his feet, turning him around, and sending him flying into the practice nets. She can see Bolin out of the corner of her eye, mouth agape, obviously unsure where he fits in to all this, and Korra wishes she could tell him that this has nothing to do with him, that this is Mako’s problem, not his, but she’s far too angry for reason.

“Why don’t you try spending a little less time worrying about me and a little more time worrying about your own girlfriend.” Before Mako can object, she’s stalking out of the gym, and he is left wondering how he managed to fuck up that encounter so much. Bo offers him an apologetic hand up and pats him on the back reassuringly.

“I don’t like it either, but she’ll be alright, Bro,” Bolin consoles.

“And what if she’s not,” he fires back, “What if he tries something?” He shudders at the thought. Even worse, what if that’s what Korra wants.

“He wouldn’t risk disqualification like that.” Only then does Mako realize they’re talking about two completely different things. Bolin is too good, too pure, of course his mind doesn’t stray to the infinite possibilities.

“Then why even offer make the offer at all?” Mako asks, even though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer. The firebender has seen all too well the way men look at Korra; they desire her, and she is nothing but a prize to Tahno, a crowning jewel to his collection. Either she is too naïve to see that, or worse, she wants that too. Whichever it is, she is playing a dangerous game.

“Who knows? What matters is Korra can handle him.”

 _Yeah, but who’s going to handle her,_ he almost says, but he understands his own hypocrisy enough to swallow the words. Instead, he sighs, “You’re right.” The words are of little comfort to him, and he knows that he’ll probably spend most of the night watching Air Temple Island and waiting for her lantern to flicker on. It’s not fair, he knows this, it’s selfish. She is an adult who can make her own decisions, and if she wants to fool around with Tahno, she can. He doesn’t like it though, not one bit, but he can pretend to appease Bolin.

.

..

.

A storm is rolling in, she notes, dark clouds are on the horizon and the smell of rain is being carried in by turbulent, mountain breeze. The calm before the storm does little to subdue her anger as she weaves her way through the bustling streets in search of the Wolfbats' private gym. Tahno had slipped the address into her locker, complete with a date and time and even though she knows it may be a trap, she has a sort of morbid curiosity. There must be something breakable beneath that collected exterior, she just needs to find the cracks. Besides, Tenzin has been stressing to her the importance of waiting and watching, and private lessons seems like a great opportunity to test out her newfound skills. That being said, she is not naïve to the implication and apparently neither is Mako, judging by his response to her plan.

Granted, her plan was as half-baked as she was, but hey, at least she was trying something. As confident as she was in the Fire Ferrets abilities, she knew the Wolfbats were not about to play fair. Just last week, she watched them put all three Rabiroos in the hospital after a particularly brutal first round knockout. Any bit of intel Korra could collect about Tahno may be the difference between winning and losing, at least that’s what she convinced herself. She’s more than willing to imply scandal if that means winning the bending brothers the championship pot, and if Mako could cool his hot-head for half a fucking second, maybe he’d realize that she was doing this for him and Bo. But he wouldn’t ever do that, he’s too passionate, and even though she hates to admit it, that passion just makes her want him more. She shakes her head, sick of letting Mako occupy the free space in her mind ( _again_ ), but still, she feels a little cynical joy in knowing that she will be all he thinks about tonight. Let him wonder.

She finds the building on the east side of the city, nestled between a quaint loose-leaf tea shop and an authentic earth kingdom restaurant. She’s always enjoyed earth kingdom grub, hearty and substantial like its people. She makes a mental note to drag Bo back here with her, treat him to a meal for his failed attempt at playing mediator. It’s the least she could do.

The air in the empty gym is stale. Thick glass doors thump closed behind her, blocking out the bustle of the busy street, and suddenly her stomach is in her throat because maybe she didn’t actually think this through. Her arms cross impulsively in front of her chest as she takes a few tentative steps towards the center of the room. She can see the silhouette of settling dust against dim sunlight streaming through the window. She breathes it in, letting it tickle the inside of her nose, musty and comforting. The gym is humble and so opposite to the personality of its members, and she wonders for a second if she’s even in the right place. But then she catches a glint of shimmering gold on the wall to her left and turns her body to bask in the glow of three championship trophies- _definitely the right place._

Her stomach twists being so close to it, close enough to reach out but too far to touch. She imagines holding it in the center of the arena, imagines Bo smiling as he scoops her into a sweaty bear hug, all warmth and booming laughs that rumbles through his chest. It is so close, she can almost smell Mako’s cinnamon breath in the crooks of her neck as he embraces her, arms tight around her, holding her like she’s always wanted him to do. So fucking close, and she has never wanted anything more. She hears a low whistle behind her that snaps her out of her daydream and pivots on her heels to see Tahno leaning against a stack of earth pucks on the opposite end of the room, all hard lines and superiority. She watches him watch her, something akin to mirth on his face as he sees the remnants of her fantasy leave her face.

“Take it all in, Avatar,” he smirks, “because it’ll be the first and last time you see that trophy.” Even from across the room, she can feel the disdain radiating off him in waves, and she senses that she is already a step behind, like he’s off to the races and she’s tripping over her own feet. He watches her hands move to her hips in defiance, and he knows that he has caught her off guard, The way she squares up is delightful, rising to the challenge.

“Not if I have anything to do with it.” Even as the words leave her mouth, she can feel her confidence faltering internally. It’s not that she doesn’t think she can win, it’s just that she’s gotten so used to losing outside of the arena that sometimes she wonders how much longer she can keep faking success. At every point Amon and Tarlok were a step ahead of her: smarter, faster, deadlier. If he senses her hesitation, he doesn’t mention it - _how polite,_ she thinks bitterly- instead he pushes off the blocks and takes a decisive step towards her.

“While your bending skills are,” he pauses for a second searching for the right word, “impressive, it’s a team sport, Korra, and your teammates leave something to be desired.” The jab is measured, he knows that she is nothing if not loyal to the bending brothers. He also knows that even inciting their name will provoke her, and even though she’s just here for a good spar, there’s no harm in chipping away at her already fragile confidence. He can see right through her, she is nowhere near as confident as she portrays, in that way, they are alike.

“You should worry about your own teammates.” She retorts, boldly taking her own step forward, closing a bit of the distance between them. He sees it for what it is, a reminder that he is not the only one with power here.

“They do as I say, simple as that,” he shrugs because truth be told Ming and Shaozu don’t do much thinking for themselves, and that’s just how he likes it. There’s a reason why he is the face of the White Falls Wolfbats.

“Ah yes,” she scoffs, “Sounds like you have a lot of respect for them.” Her words are thick with sarcasm, and she tilts her head mockingly.

He ponders it for a moment because he never thought of the Wolfbat’s dynamic as lacking respect; in fact, he respected how spineless and pliable his teammates were. It didn’t matter to him that they were stupid, they were strong and could take an order. Though he supposes some may view his mindset as degrading and his leadership as dictatorial.

“Not everything has to be a democracy,” he ticks, “Besides, I’m sensing more than just respect between you and that firebender. Mako is it?” He raises an eyebrow suggestively.

She feels the blush crawling up her neck because how could he possibly know? She wills it away and sets her mouth in a hard line, but the damage is done and her face burns red with embarrassment. He smiles at the victory, taking a moment to bask in the way she has begun to squirm.

“The Sato heiress is pretty, I suppose,” he muses before she has a chance to piece together a false denial. He notes her budding discomfort with a sly smile, “Pretty, but rather vapid, don’t you think?”

“Leave Asami out of this.” Because no matter how much she wants Mako to herself, Asami is lovely and smart and has saved her ass on more than one occasion. “Besides, you would know more than anyone about vapid fangirls.”

“Are you suggesting my female companions aren’t capable of good conversation?” He begins walking towards her, his steps are deliberate, and suddenly she feels a bit like prey, frozen and unsure in the face of a predator.

“I’m suggesting that conversation isn’t your primary interest in them.”

“Maybe not,” he purrs. At this point he is close to her, so close she can see the stark black of eyeliner against tepid gray eyes. “But I promise the arrangements are mutually beneficial.” She rolls her eyes so hard that she swears she sees the ceiling, just as he turns on his heel and begins to circle around her slowly. He rakes his eyes over her body, tense with unsprung nerves, and he’d be lying if he said she wasn’t pleasant to look at, tanned and toned and possessing power beyond his wildest dreams.

“Are you so sure your female companions would agree?” she quips back nervously, the words coming out huskier than she would have liked. Her feet are stuck in place and even though she can’t see him, she can feel him stop directly behind her leaning down until his mouth is only a few inches from her right ear, the proximity leaves her dizzy and confused. She smells like sweat and soap and ocean salt and he drinks it in greedily, gently brushing one of her ponytails to the side to get a better view of the expanses of her soft neck.

“If you’re so skeptical, I could give you a demonstration.” The words send a chill down her spine, and even though she’s disgusted by Tahno, she would be lying if she said this didn’t light a fire in her, but this is not what she came here for. If this is the game he wants to play, she decides, she’s more than willing to indulge in it. She turns around slowly until they are once again toe to toe and reaches up to wrap her hand decisively around his neck. Her fingers twine themselves in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and pull him down towards her gently, bracing herself on tiptoes. For a second, she sees the surprise in his eyes- _because this was an easier victory than he anticipated_ \- as he prepares for the crash of her lips. But then her head turns at the last minute, and her mouth stops right next to his ear.

“I didn’t come here to flirt, Tahno,” she whispers, her breath warm and soft on the cusp of his ear. She feels him tense, his composure broken momentarily- _a crack -_ but just as quickly, he swings back into character, and Korra finds herself disappointed at her inability to enjoy the moment.

“Are you so sure about that, _Korra?”_ And then his hand is moving carefully and settling decisively on her waist and the touch is all together foreign and familiar. She can’t help but shudder at how warm and close he is, fingers pressing firmly into sensitive flesh, and she wonders if he feels it too, if there is a sea of electricity in his stomach, and she can sense herself slipping, her minor victory all but forgotten, lost in his pliant fingers and confused because maybe she does want more.

_Get it together, say something, Stupid, anything._

“Positive,” she breathes out, falling back onto her heels carefully, courage lost, as her hand disengages from his hair and falls useless and heavy at her side. For a second, he is disappointed, perhaps he expected her to be bolder, or maybe he was just enjoying this game of cat and mouse. She is, admittedly, a worthy partner. She’s right, his fangirls offer little in terms of conversation.

“If you say so,” he chuckles quietly, taking a measured step back and dropping his hand from her waist, and suddenly the moment is gone, and she is left feeling exposed and unsure how to proceed, and even though he is still close, he suddenly feels further than ever and she’s not sure why this makes her uncomfortable.

_“Then why did you come?”_

The question shouldn’t catch her off guard. After all, she had spent all afternoon justifying it to her teammates, but suddenly her throat seems dry and tight, and none of her excuses seem quite good enough.

“To spar, I guess.”

He sighs, unconvinced but satisfied with the answer and takes a measured step back, “Whatever you say.” And then he is motioning for her to follow as he makes his way to a staircase in the corner. The air is warm and there is sweat rolling down her neck as she tentatively follows him up the rickety staircase, still feeling a bit unsure on her own feet. The wood groans angrily under their weight, overcast light haloing around his head, and she wonders not for the first time if she should just leave at this point. His motions are stiff and calculated in front of her, and if she didn’t know any better, she may say he looked suddenly unsure, his façade slipping a bit when his back is to her.

He pushes open a large metal door at the top of the stairs and motions for her to exit. She moves past him carefully, her hip brushing against his and emerges onto a large, open rooftop. Her feet carry her to the edge instinctively, and she leans over the railing to watch the shop patrons bustling below. He joins her being sure to stay just far enough away as they watch the rain clouds roll over Yue Bay.

“Well, what now?” she asks, feeling suddenly very impatient and much too exposed.

“We wait for the rain.”

She almost scoffs at the absurdity of waiting for rain in a pro-bending gym, like they’re in the dark ages or something, and he must notice her surprise because he’s quick to offer her an explanation.

“Listen, I fully intend to beat you, and I don’t want you destroying my gym when I do,” he smirks.

“And how do you expect to win without cheating?” she fires back, aware of the Wolfbat’s not so clean reputation and admittedly annoyed by his suggestion that she couldn’t control her anger. Even if he’s right, even if she has a history of burning air nation relics to a crisp, his arrogance is insufferable.

“Can’t cheat if there are no rules,” he shrugs, amused by the blooming frustration in her voice.

“Who said there are no rules?” Thunder cracks in the distance and the air shifts. The storm is close and the promise of rain makes her fingers tremble like water bugs skating across a rivers surface because even if she favors fire, she is Watertribe to her core.

“Come now, Korra, we both know rules are just holding you back.” She turns to see he is already looking at her, gray eyes stoic and knowing and she wonders if he realizes just how much they actually have in common: the ice wielding probender and the confine escaping, curfew breaking, boyfriend kissing Avatar. If only he knew how many rules she has already broken just to be here, just to weather this storm with him. Maybe he does, or maybe he suspects. And even though breaking the rules isn’t how she usually likes to operate, she can’t deny the fact that racing across the tundra with Naga, leaving behind her arctic prison, was the most alive she’s even felt: frigid air piercing her throat, stinging tears frozen to her face, rules all but buried in the snow piling behind her.

The sky opens up with a boom and suddenly they are doused in their element, slick and sweet as it pools above the pillow of her lip and drips down her chin. She’s still not used to rain, snow seems much more familiar, but she still enjoys the way it wraps around her skin, a cool embrace to soothe the heat that Tahno has ignited in her with the promise of anarchy because maybe the idea of throwing the rules away is intriguing to her too, maybe she’s still chasing that high.

“So no rules?” She whispers, barely audible above the clattering of raindrops on the tin roofs. He raises an eyebrow and she thinks that maybe she sees a spark of excitement in his eyes, the beginnings of a smile that he doesn’t dare let show on his lips.

“If you insist.”

And before she even has a chance to consider the floodgate that she may have just opened, he is springing into action, dropping and sweeping a leg to try and knock her off balance. She jumps back, falling into a back handspring to avoid the blow. She lands in a crouch and smirks, feeling a familiar fire in her belly, the same fire she felt the first time she set foot in the arena. She pulls at the water around her into a whip and sends it flying towards him, he dips out of the way swiftly and the water splashes useless behind him.

He responds by encasing his fist in ice and running towards her, but she’s quick to bend the rocks beneath him causing him to tumble and his makeshift glove to shatter. He somersaults out of it, and she uses the opportunity to aim a sweeping kick that barely misses his ribs. He growls grabbing her ankle and wrapping his forearm around it, but before he can pull her off balance, she’s flipping her body and slipping her rain slicked leg out of his grasp. She spins around summons as much water as possible to send a tidal wave towards him, but he’s fast and smart and ices his feet to roof to brace himself to weather the wave, taking advantage of plethora of water she has provided. He sends a tendril of liquid her way, wrapping it around her wrist. She intercepts it by erecting a wall of rock between them, and suddenly the game is afoot and it almost feels like a dance as they move in tandem, opposite but together, a mirrored pair.

She rolls with his punches, ducking and dodging, throwing back ice and rock when possible, hoping he will tire himself out. She notes that he is faster than her, his body lithe and aware, but his stance is weak, and if she could just break his core, she knows he’ll fall hard. Easier said than done because he just won’t stop moving, and no matter how much she digs her heels in, his blows are measured and sharp, and a particularly nasty icicle to her side causes her to bite down on her own tongue until all she can taste is blood and rainwater. A quick breath escapes her nose as she hops back and tries to regroup.

“Ready to give up yet?” he teases, but she can sense he too is tired, and she knows that this is now or never. She huffs out and begins running towards him, he turns the ground below her into ice, and she uses it to her advantage using the momentum to dive and slide between his legs, and suddenly his back is to her and she has some semblance of power again. She sweeps her legs out, pulling the same move he tried on her at the beginning of this fight, but this time it lands. His legs crumple beneath him as he falls at her feet, wet and displeased.

“Are _you_ ready to give up?” she smirks, hands on her hips, and for a moment, she thinks he might admit defeat, but then she sees the twinkle in his eye and suddenly her legs are being kicked out beneath her and she is falling, landing haphazardly on top of him with a graceless huff, and he has the audacity to laugh at her expense, hands folding behind his head to enjoy the show as she tries to untangle herself from him. The sun has already set, night falling around them like a veil as the rain continues to fall in a steady drizzle, making her attempts to disengage even more uncomfortable. The longer she takes, the more aware he is of her body, of the way her chest is brushing haphazardly against his, and suddenly his skin feels to tight, and he’s screwing his eyes shut trying to focus on anything but her soft breath on his neck.

“That wasn’t fair,” she snaps, shifting until she’s straddling him, hands resting on either side of his head, fully intending to push away, but then she turns and sees the look on his face, and for the first time it is perfectly clear exactly what he is feeling: longing. She realizes how close they are, how slick his skin in beneath her, how he can probably feel every shaky breath she is taking. She shifts carefully and he trembles below her and she feels suddenly too powerful as he waits with bated breath for her next move. Her eyes shift until they are locked on his, half-lidded and confused by her hesitance as raindrops roll down the bridge of her nose and land with a crash on his cheeks. And she knows she should get up, she should nip this feeling in the bud, but it feels like she is made of metal, like her body is burdensome and he is a magnet, and how long has she been waiting for someone to look at her like this?

The memory of their fight feels very far away. He is too close now, all slick skin and and hard lines, and maybe she liked breaking the rules more than she cares to admit, and maybe that’s why she does something that is against her better judgement and reaches a hand to his face, resting it hesitantly on the his chin, fingers wrapping up to rest on his cheek and she feels him shiver below her, letting out a wobbly breath that’s warm against her wrist. There is surprise in his eyes, surprise and confusion and a glimmer of excitement and he leans into her touch, and her fingers drag down his neck and come to rest on his chest, and there’s no more denying that she wants this too, even if she’s not quite sure what this is.

He must sense it because his next move is deliberate, his hand reaching behind her neck and pulling her down to him, “No rules, Korra.” And then his lips are crashing into hers and she swears she see stars as her mouth struggles to catch up with her brain. His lips are pliant against hers, warm and rough as he pulls her closer, his other hand finding purchase on her waist, digging into to the sensitive skin. She gasps, moving her hands to his cheeks and pushes back against him, desperate for more. His lips taste like salt and chamomile tea and she wants to drown in them, her hands moving from his cheeks to his hair as she pulls demandingly at the drenched locks. The action results in a growl that gets swallowed by the delicate pillow of her lips.

He shifts suddenly, pushing himself into a sitting position, never once breaking their kiss, and wraps his arms tight around her waist, pulling her body flush against his, soft breasts heaving against his toned chest, and he moans into her mouth, acutely aware of the way her hips move rhythmically against his. From this position it is wholly impossible to ignore the effect she has had on him, and she relishes in the way his body is responding to hers. Her hands drop from his hair and snake underneath the fabric of his shirt, digging her nails into the expanse of smooth, slick skin. His lips break from hers, and he yanks at the ponytail holder at the back of her head. Her waves go flying and he wastes no time in grabbing a handful of wild hair and forcing her head back, allowing him access to the tanned skin of her neck. A gentle whimper escapes her when his teeth nip at the soft flesh, leaving behind a trail of marred skin, and even though she’s no expert on this, she knows she wants more.

Her own hands drop to the hem of her shirt, pulling at the fabric and yanking it over her head. He freezes, taking a moment to admire the way her breasts roll under tight binding, hands reaching to touch the exposed skin of her stomach. They tease their way up to chest and then his hands are on her bindings, firm and soft and her head falls back, a breath stuck in her throat because she has never been touched like this, and she’s afraid of slowing down, afraid of pulling back and coming to her senses because this feels as good as racing across the tundra, better even. She leans down and her lips capture his again, softer this time, almost tender. His hands trace down her sides, stopping on her hips and pulling gently, urging her to rock into him, and she complies eagerly. He gasps hungrily and she uses to opportunity to slip he tongue into his mouth, enjoying the way it dances across his. The friction of their bodies crashing against each other is intoxicating, lighting her core on fire, and she knows that if she doesn’t stop now, she won’t stop at all.

She wonders, all at once if that’s exactly what he wants, if she’s fallen right into his trap, and suddenly his mouth tastes sour against hers, wrong, and is this what Mako meant when he told her not to be stupid. Was he right, is this all a ploy to get into her head? She tries to ignore it, to enjoy how good he’s making her feel, but the moment is gone. The spark in her stomach is replaced by nausea because suddenly she feels like one of those stupid, vapid fangirls. He must sense her shift because he pulls back, dropping his elbows so he’s propped up on them and looking at her, his head tilted to the side in confusion. Before he has the chance to ask what’s wrong, her hands are striking him hard, shoving him towards the concrete, his head cracking against the ground as she pushes herself off him.

“What the fuck?” he growls.

“You’re an asshole, you know,” she spits, grabbing her shirt and pulling it on, struggling with the soaked fabric. He looks confused for a moment, still hazy with lust, but it doesn’t take him long to wrap his head around her anger.

“I’m an asshole?” he laughs, “You wanted that as much as I did.” The words are harsh and true, and she doesn’t dare look at him as he too pulls himself to his feet, afraid he’ll see the shame and embarrassment washed across her cheeks.

“You tricked me.” She pushes past him and shoves the metal door open, trying to put as much distance between her and Tahno as possible. He follows, trying to keep up. She’s practically running at this point, taking the stairs two at a time, desperate to get out of this godforsaken gym.

“Just wait a second, let’s at least talk about this, damnit.” When they get to the bottom of the steps, he reaches out and grabs her wrist, forcing her to spin and face him.

“Talk about what?” she hisses, snapping her wrist free, “Talk about how you played me? No thanks, pretty boy, I’d rather not.”

“I didn’t play you, so get that thought out of your head, princess,” he seethes, “You came onto me, you don’t get to play victim.” She intakes a sharp breath and crosses her arms tightly, hugging herself, and she’s genuinely not sure if he’s right. She may have technically made the first move, but he’s been teasing her for weeks now, and her response was a culmination of those moments, at least that’s what she keeps telling herself because she’s the Avatar and she’s supposed to be better at evading temptation.

“Don’t even pretend like this wasn’t your plan.”

 _My plan,_ he thinks, _how the hell could I have managed to execute that?_ Besides, what does she want him to say. Does she want him to pretend that he didn’t enjoy that, pretend like he doesn’t want her? Regardless, he knows that no matter what he says she will be displeased.

“You wouldn’t believe me if it said it wasn’t,” he remarks, “so what’s the point.” Deep down she knows that it’s true, knows that she is just trying to justify the guilt that is bubbling in the pit of her stomach.

“You know what, I don’t care,” she groans, suddenly feeling far too tired for this conversation, “Just do us both a favor, and don’t tell anyone, alright?” Her clothes are sticky, still damp from the rain and all she wants is to lay in bed and forget about this stupid night and his skilled tongue and the way they rolled together like waves on the sea.

“I don’t kiss and tell.” He assures her, and he means it. Besides, how would his teammates react if they knew he was fooling around with the enemy. They may be stupid, but they know bad press when they see it, and this is the worst kind of press. He can already imagine the tabloid headlines “Slimy Probending Star Takes Advantage of Republic City’s Golden Girl”.

She nods solemnly, turning and crossing the gym in hurried, shaky steps. Her hand is on the door when she hears him call from across the gym.

“Maybe we try this again after the tournament.” He almost doesn’t say it, almost lets her leave without looking back, but there is something between them, and he knows she felt it too, knows that she’s just as confused as he is.

She shakes her head, pausing for a moment, and then she is pushing the door open and disappearing into the drizzly night, and all that is left of her is the smell of her soap on his skin and the memory of her lips, soft and full against his.

_Maybe…_

_._

_.._

_._

She runs full sprint back to Air Temple Island, afraid that if she stops, she’ll have to prematurely face her own guilt. Maybe, she thinks, she can forget it ever happened, but she knows it’s a stupid thought because the feeling of his skilled hands are burnt into her skin, and she knows next time she looks in the mirror, all she’ll see is the marks he left on her neck, fresh and sore.

_How could you be so stupid?_

_Do you have no self-control at all?_

_What will Mako and Bolin think?_

They’ll never know, she decides then. If they ask, she’ll say she decided not to go. That instead she went back to Air Temple Island and spent the afternoon with Tenzin and the family. Bolin will believe her- _sweet, summer Bolin-_ he always believes her, but she’s pretty sure Mako will know. He’s too good at reading her, too good at pressing all the right buttons until she’s practically throwing her secrets at his feet, begging him to carry them too.

Naga greets her at her window, and she crumples into her, happy for her warm solid body to lean on, to bury her shame in. Naga licks her gently, sensing her owner’s distress, all too happy to help shoulder the burden. When her nausea subsides, she lights her lantern and falls into bed, still wet and confused and tired and not sure what to think or how to feel. She feels stupid, yes, but there is more than just that. She also feels disappointed, and she’s not sure if she’s disappointed in herself for going so far or disappointed that she stopped when she did. She sighs and rolls over, burying her head in her pillow and hoping for sleep.

 _Maybe we try this again after the tournament._ The words echo in her head: a promise, a tease, a challenge.

 _Maybe we do,_ she thinks.


	2. After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Lin takes her statement, it’s hard to remember all of the details: the fall, the electricity filling the stands, the way Lieutenant smirked before he lit up her world, then pain like she’s never felt before as every nerve is set alight, and finally there is black. She faintly remembers being dragged, but it feels more like a dream than a memory, foggy and vague. She swears that she heard Tahno plead for mercy, her sucker punch long forgotten, before her world went dark again, and she woke up tied to a pole with a thrumming. She remembers watching the bodies of the Wolfbats fall, limp and useless into the waiting water, and that’s when it sunk in. Once again, she had failed to protect, to serve the citizens of Republic City, so when Pabu chewed her free, she did the rashest thing possible, she launched after Amon with reckless abandon. She faintly heard Mako call after her, but she was already too far gone and so is Amon.
> 
> Tenzin tells her that it’s not her fault, that she did everything right; her mind flashes to gray eyes and rooftop spars. She’s not sure that she believes him.

_After the tournament felt so far away._

_How could she have known how much would change?_

.

..

.

Across the bay, Mako sees a light flick on and sighs out in relief. His back is sore from leaning against the wooden window frame, and he stretches his arms out, feeling slightly placated. She’s safe, she’s home, and she’ll be sleeping in her own bed tonight, but he can’t help but wonder why she was out so late. He internally berates himself for caring so much, for wasting so much time worrying about her because she’s an adult and she is more than capable of taking care of herself, but he just can’t keep himself from worrying about her. She is far too naïve for the likes of Tahno, at least that’s what he tells himself. She deserves someone who will appreciate her, who will love her not because she’s the Avatar but because she is Korra. _Someone like me,_ he thinks selfishly because maybe he wants her to himself. _Maybe she still wants me too._ His mind flashes to petals in the wind, to her soft lips on his, the rush of a rule broken, maybe it doesn’t matter who made the first move after all, maybe it never really did.

.

_.._

_._

She wakes up before dawn. She is still damp with a dull headache blooming in her skull as the memories of the night before come rushing back, and she knows that she will not be falling back asleep, not when all she can think about is chamomile lips and the surprising thrill of a shared secret. Her limbs feel tight as she stands and tries to stretch the sleep, or lack thereof, out of them before finally changing into a dry set of clothes. She adjusts the neckline carefully, doing her best to cover the bruises he left on her neck. She’s not one to use makeup, but she makes a mental note to ask Asami how to deal with discoloration. She’ll say it’s for dark circles, but Asami is a lot like Mako. She’s too perceptive, and she’ll absolutely see right through it with her small, knowing smile.

She lets Naga sleep and makes her way down to the gazebo, grabbing one of Pema’s famous steamed rolls on the way down. She should meditate- at least that’s what Tenzin says- but frankly, she’s sick of radio silence, so instead she chooses to practice her airbending forms, finding comfort in the muscle memory. Tenzin also keeps telling her that air is coming, that soon she will be a fully realized avatar, but more than anything she just feels stuck, feels blocked. Even though she is moving like an airbender, even though she should be closer to an answer than ever, but no matter how many forms she learns, memorizes, commits to muscle memory, it all just feels further away than ever, and with Amon so close, how can she afford that weakness.

She spots the sun start to rise over Yue Bay and sighs, knowing her self-hatred will have to wait as she sets off to the ferry. The final match is tomorrow, and the fire ferrets had spent every day practicing, and even though she’s not too jazzed about the third degree she’s surely about to receive, there’s a renewed fire in her stomach at the thought of wiping that stupid smile off Tahno’s face, once and for all. Because the more she thinks about last night, the more she feels like she’s been played, like she’s still being played, like that final comment he threw so haphazardly at her was meant to confuse her, to knock her off balance, again, _a mischievous kick._ He made it very clear that he does not plan to play by the rules, and what better way to cheat than getting into her head?

Yue Bay is always quiet this early, and it gives her time to reflect. She wonders, not or the first time, if Aang ever took this ferry too. If he looked out at the city that he built and felt suddenly very small and very inconsequential. She wonders why he, _or any of her past lives for that matter_ , refuse to come to her now when the world seems to be falling apart. It feels almost unfair that whenever Aang asked for Roku, he showed up, and all she has to show for hours upon hours of meditation is the shame of being a spiritual failure. Tenzin urges her not to worry, to keep meditating on that frustration, that when the time is right, his father will appear to her, but her patience is wearing thin. _If now is not the right time, Aang, when will be?_ Her train of thought is cut short as the ferry lurches to a stop and her feet follow the familiar path to the arena.

She sees Bolin first, stretching out on a training mat, and when he looks at her, his eyes light up like they always do. It makes her stomach lurch to know that she does not deserve his admiration, not when she was too weak to see past Tahno’s tricks- _and too stubborn to listen to her teammates_. She sees Mako too, out of the corner of her eye, as he makes his way into the gym. His mouth is set into a firm, unreadable line, and the way he is looking at her makes her feel nervous, like he’s probing her mind, and she wills herself to look casual, gently pulling at her shirt to make sure it’s still seated correctly on her neck.

“Good morning,” she smiles, trying to break the obvious tension. Bolin smiles too but still looks to Mako nervously not quite sure what he’s supposed to say. For a second, the only sound in the gym is soft jazz from the radio in the corner, but then Mako sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“So how was it?” Mako asks, crossing his arms across his chest, trying not to appear as apprehensive as he feels. His voice is flat, restrained, but internally he is already bombarding her with questions. _What happened? Did he hurt you? Was it worth it? Were you thinking about me?_

“I -uh- I didn’t end up going.”

Bolin lets out a breath just as one catches in Mako’s throat, and she looks at him with a sheepish smile before dropping her eyes to the ground, willing him to look away, to buy her lie just this once. But something is off, and he can sense it immediately, sense the way her whole body is stiff, and her eyes won’t seem to leave the floor even as his boar into her. She is lying, and unfortunately for her, she’s not very good at it. Not like he is at least. Years on the streets had trained him to spot a fib a mile away, and she is ridden with tells: rigid spine, fidgeting fingers, the way she bites her bottom lip absentmindedly. Admittedly, that last one is a little distracting, but he tries to drown his fascination and focus on the facts. Why would she even feel the need to lie to them like that? What could she be hiding?

“You didn’t go?” he asks skeptically, trying to give her an out, acutely aware of the dull pain in his back from waiting for her light to flick on and the lack of true relief when it actually did. _What were you up to last night, Korra? And why don’t you want me to know?_

She nods, too nervous to speak under his obvious scrutiny.

He pushes back, “Why not?”

“I guess I really thought about what you said.” Her collar feels too tight, and she pulls at it, her fingers brushing against fresh bruises. This does not go unnoticed by Mako who suddenly feels the need to see what’s obscured by that carefully placed fabric.

“You made the right choice, Korra,” Bolin chimes in as he pulls himself to his feet and throws a friendly arm over her shoulder, “Even without your super Avatar intel, I’m sure we’ll kick butt.” He mimes a few punches and gives her his classic, easy grin, and even though there is still guilt bubbling in her stomach, she feels a sense of comfort from his embrace.

“Sorry about giving you a hard time, Mako, and, you know, throwing you into the net.”

And even though he is not at all convinced by her little charade, he knows this conversation is going nowhere, and that getting Bo involved too would be a detriment to team dynamic, so he swallows his pride and drops the topic, shelving it for later with a nonchalant shrug.

“It’s fine, really, let’s just focus on winning the tournament.” He notes the way she visibly relaxes, obviously relieved to no longer be the object of his scrutiny and all too ready to take her nerves out on something tangible, and when Bolin whips out a couple of freshly printed pictures of Tahno, she is all too happy to destroy them. In fact, if he didn’t know any better, he would say there was a renewed vigor, a venom he hasn’t seen before in her strikes, and even though it’s easy to see she’s lying through her teeth, he can’t quite read what going through her mind.

He fully intends to pull her aside after practice, to probe a little further, sure that if he asks to right questions- _asks the right way_ \- she’ll crack, but then the radio buzzes and Amon’s voice is filling the gym and he watches her face fall, eyes wide with confusion as she struggles to keep up.

“I hope you all enjoyed last night’s probending match because it will be the last.”

A chill runs up his spine, and when Korra looks at him, the fear in her eyes is palpable, a culmination of too many close calls and nightmares. All at once he feels the almost overwhelming need to take her far away from here, to protect her even if that’s not what she wants from him, not what she needs. He almost reaches out to her, the neck, the light and the lies all but forgotten, but then he remembers himself, and instead balls his fist and stares daggers into the radio, trying to focus on not losing his temper because seeing her this uncharacteristically scared is making him angry.

“I am calling on the Council to shut down the bending arena and cancel the finals, or else.” And then there is static, and they are left dumbfounded, one step behind the equalist once again and struggling to keep their footing. Mako looks to his brother, who too seems unsure on how to proceed.

Korra is the first to speak, “We need to go to the council and convince them not to cancel the match.” When he looks back at her, the fear is gone, replaced by a cold, almost detached rage that he is not used to seeing on her, and he realizes that she has reverted to wearing her anger like a turtleduck shell because it’s better than being afraid, right?

“Wait a second, Korra,” he reasons, “Is that really a good idea?” Because as much as he and Bolin need the money, would it really be worth losing their bending over or, even worse, risking her bending, and he can’t believe that she is even considering it, considering testing Amon’s patience one more time.

_Do you not remember the last time, Korra? The way he tricked you. Because I do. Because I think about that all the time, about how close you were to losing it all. How close the world was to losing you,_

She really is beyond selfless.

“Wait for what, Mako? For Amon to bully benders into silence? I don’t think so.” She shoves past him a little too roughly.

“We just don’t want anyone to get hurt, Kor,” Bolin hesitates, stopping her in her tracks. She sighs, knowing that he is right, but her skin feels too tight and she is aching for some semblance of control over the situation. She is sick and tired of letting Amon ruin everything, and even though she is scared beyond belief, it isn’t in her nature to just roll over, not when the city is depending on her to bring peace.

“I know,” she says, turning to rest a soft hand on Bo’s elbow, “I just- I think we need to at least try and talk to the Council.” There is a desperation in her voice, Mako recognizes it too well, understands that she is hiding barely concealing fear; it is a voice he has used before when the streets were too cold and food was hard to come by and Bolin just wouldn’t atop shivering.

Bolin looks at Mako, who nods solemnly, and the three of them make their way to the capital building. They get there in time to see Lin advocating for the event to continue, and after a brief talk with Tenzin, the plans are made, and Mako is not sure if he is relieved or terrified to hear that the show will go on. He is mildly comforted by the police presence, but he knows what Amon is capable of and Korra does too.

He pulls her to the side once they get back to the arena, telling Bolin to go upstairs and start dinner.

“Are you okay?” Admittedly, he doesn’t expect honestly, but it’s his job as team caption to make sure she’s ready for tomorrow. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

“I’m fine,” she says attempting a weak smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, and he shakes his head, why won’t this stupid girl just admit that she is afraid, why must this be another battle.

“You know, it’s okay if you’re scared.”

He tries a more gentle approach this time, something neither of them are quite used to because so far it’s been easier to detach, to keep her an arm’s length away.

“It’s just- you and Bolin deserve this chance, okay? And I’m not going to let Amon take that from you.” She means it even though she is terrified; they deserve this, and maybe she deserves this too, deserves the chance to show Amon that she will not lie down and let him bully the citizens of Republic City into submission.

“Bolin and I, we’re here if you need to talk. You know that, right?” She looks away from him, indignant and ashamed for being so weak, so obviously shaken.

“Just go home, and get some rest, okay?” he sighs. The wall is up, and he knows there is no point in trying to convince her to drop it, not when she seems further away from him than ever, and he unconsciously finds himself wondering if something has changed since yesterday afternoon. Instead of pushing, like he so desperately wants to do, he sighs and lays a hand on her shoulder, a rare moment of physical contact, “We need you ready for tomorrow.”

.

..

.

She wakes up the morning of the tournament feeling dangerous. The fear is still there, lingering in the back of her mind, but more than anything there is desire and excitement, and she is all too ready to knock that stupid smirk off of Tahno’s stupid face once and for all. That, she thinks, would make all this stress worth it. Then, and only then, will she allow herself to consider what happens next, if anything. She won’t let herself to be swayed by his whispered afterthoughts- _Maybe after the tournament we try this again-_ not even if a part of her hopes for them to be true. Tonight, she will win. She needs to win.

When she walks into the gym that night, the energy is electric, and she buzzes with nerves and excitement and hope. She is comforted, if only a little bit, by the police presence. There are more officers and blimps than she’s ever seen in one place. Bolin embraces her when she walks into the changing room, and she smiles a genuine smile because this is what she wanted, right?

“You ready?” he whispers in her ear, and his excitement is contagious.

“Born ready,” she laughs, “Let’s show those slimy Wolfbats what a fire ferret can do!”

When they huddle, Mako smiles at her too, relieved to see her more like her old self.

"Let’s do this!”

_Round one goes to the Wolfbats._

_Round two goes to the Fire Ferrets._

_Round three goes to Amon, a perfect knockout._

When Lin takes her statement, it’s hard to remember all of the details: the fall, the electricity filling the stands, the way Lieutenant smirked before he lit up her world, then pain like she’s never felt before as every nerve is set alight, and finally there is black. She faintly remembers being dragged, but it feels more like a dream than a memory, foggy and vague. She swears that she heard Tahno plead for mercy, her sucker punch long forgotten, before her world went dark again, and she woke up tied to a pole with a thrumming in her head and a renewed terror bubbling in the pit of her stomach. She remembers watching the bodies of the Wolfbats fall, limp and useless into the waiting water, and that’s when it sunk in. Once again, she had failed to protect, to serve the citizens of Republic City, so when Pabu chewed her free, she did the rashest thing possible, she launched after Amon with reckless abandon. She faintly heard Mako call after her, but she was already too far gone.

_Amon still gets away._

Tenzin tells her that it’s not her fault, that she did everything right; her mind flashes to gray eyes and rooftop spars. She’s not sure that she believes him.

.

..

.

He dreams of the swamps, of his mother’s soft guiding hands on his, of mud and vines and sweat that drips down his nose and is swallowed greedily by the roots below. He dreams of the first time he controlled water, no older than the age of five, fascinated by the way it wrapped around his hand -so much _power-_ and his mother beamed with pride. He sees her now, soft, brown eyes and full cheeks that brushed against his when she pulled him close and sang to him in a tongue he never bothered to learn. All he had ever wanted was to be a strong bender, to make her proud, but when he reaches out to her, she falls apart, her skin peeling away like a lychee fruit to reveal nothing but empty sockets and exposed nerves and _red, red, red_ , and suddenly he feels too small, too far away as the swamp dries up and there is desert as far as the eye can see.

He lurches awake. His entire body lifts off the bed as a scream catches in his throat, stuck. Thick, hot sweat clings to his skin like cellophane as he falls back onto his pillow and lets out a shaky breath. His sheets are soaked through and he finds himself once again confused, his brain fuzzy from a mixture of exhaustion and booze that leave him wondering where he is. His first instinct is to bend the sweat away, it always is, but when his finger twitch and there is no response, he is forced to remember.

_I am Tahno. I was a probending star. Last week I was equalized._

He repeats it like a mantra, convinced that if he says it enough things will start to make sense because spirits know nothing does anymore.

_I am Tahno._

His feet move on their own accord, carrying him to the bathroom.

_I was a probending star._

He turns on the faucet but doesn’t dare touch the water; the wound still feels too fresh, too new. Instead he watches it fill the basin, his stomach feeling hollow, bile clawing at the back of his throat.

_Last week I was equalized._

It doesn’t feel real. Not when he can remember the pull of the tides, the feeling of controlling power beyond the average man’s wildest dreams, wet and alive, and when he looks in the mirror, there are tears trailing down his cheeks, and was he really so disconnected to his own element that he didn’t even notice them start to fall.

_Spirits, since when have I been this damn pathetic?_

And then he’s turning the water off, hand striking the faucet aggressively before dragging himself to the kitchen and pouring another drink that smells like paint thinner and tastes like avoidance because admittedly, he’s sick and tired of thinking of that night. _Over… and over… and over again._ He’s tired of reliving all the ways he’s fucked up, like a highlight reel: the fight, the win, the shock, the fall. What if he had fought harder? What if he had swallowed his pride and ran away, dove off the edge and never looked back, leaving Shaozu and Ming behind? What if the fire ferrets had won? What would he have done if it were Korra on that stage instead of him? Would he have gone after Amon…

Admittedly, he’s not sure he’s ready to cross that bridge yet. Not when the memory of her is branded so vividly into his mind, and it’s so much harder now to compartmentalize, to separate the Avatar from the woman, so much harder to see her as unbreakable when he has felt her collapse under his touch. And logically, he knows the world needs the Avatar, that her pinky finger is more valuable, more powerful, than his entire being, but maybe he’s selfish because at this moment, he thinks he might have watched her burn if he knew it meant avoiding this purgatory because he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do now. Tomorrow, he will lie to himself, pretend that he cares about the greater good, pretend that the alcohol is what is bringing on these dangerous thoughts, but he already knows that it will be just that: a lie. Because at the end of the night, he is selfish, and he’d give anything up to be Tahno of the White Falls Wolfbats again.

By the time his head hits the pillow again, the room is spinning and he forgets, if only for one blissful second, his sad reality. When he closes his eyes, all he sees is her. Her hand is heavy on the glass door and the air is thick with unspoken words that seem so far away now, so meaningless. The scene plays in his mind, over and over.

_Maybe we try again after the tournament._

It’s technically after the tournament, but this was not the plan, and the thought of even being in the same room as her, of having to see the pity in those stupid blue eyes, is making him sick to his stomach. Logically he knows that this is not her fault, that while she may be the Avatar, she is not responsible for the evils that Amon has unleashed on Republic City, that she is just a girl who has been thrust into a war that she did not start but now has the responsibility to finish. She is as much a victim of his Amon’s as he is, maybe more so. He knows all this, but right now, it’s easier to have something tangible to blame because Amon is just a mask, an idea, a movement, but Korra is more. Korra is flesh and skin that rippled like water under his palms, and in the face of all that is happened, her failure feels like betrayal. If only she had been faster, smarter, stronger, then maybe things could be different. It’s senseless and hypocritical and beyond unfair to think these things, he knows that, but searching for sense in the events of the past week has been nearly impossible, not when there’s so much alcohol in his apartment and he has all the time in the world to drown in it.

_What would he even say to her now?_

_._

_.._

_._

He doesn’t have to wait long to see the scene play out because the next morning Chief Beifong asks him to come back to the station for a follow up statement, and he repeats the story to her for what must be the tenth time with the numb disinterest that he’s perfected, and she tells him to take care of himself (again) before sending him on his way with a firm but sympathetic nod. Just when he thinks he can go home and continue wallowing in his own self-pity, Korra walks in, a whirlwind of blue against the muted grays of the station. For a moment she is completely unaware of his presence, her back turned to him, wrapped up in an urgent but hushed conversation with Tenzin, but she must sense him, or maybe just sense his scrutiny because when she turns, her eyes find his immediately, and even from half a room away, he can see it in her eyes: guilt.

She turns to Tenzin and says something inaudible before crossing the station and coming to a halt in front of him. He notices the way she bites the inside of her cheek, hesitant and unsure, as she tries to figure out what to say. Every option seems empty, worthless, because what in the world could she say to make up for what happened to him. She knows that whatever she scrounges up, no matter how sincere, will not be enough, could never be enough.

“Tahno…”

He crosses his arms and stares at the clock above her head, keeping count of the second’s hand as it ticks on, unable to stand looking at the obvious pity in her eyes and unable to shake the feeling that this is her fault. Because even half-sober, he resents the way that the elements still sing for her, the way that water would dance at her fingertips if she called it, and he understands how easily their positions could have switched. Fate really fucked him over on this one - or maybe it was karma - and even though he can’t explain why, she feels like a catalyst, like his world before her was crawling along and she singlehandedly set this all into motion.

_I wish I never met you._

“Listen, I…”

“Spit it out, Avatar.” There is no humor, no tease, just sharpness that cuts her to the core, and even though she expected this scrutiny, it still hurts because expectation and experience are two very different things. He is cold and hurt and she is ill prepared to deal with this fallout.

“I’m so sorry about your bending,” she tries, but it already feels like she’s slipping, like he is black ice and she is running too quickly, like if she’s not careful, she will crash. “I should have stopped him.” The words are empty, and she knows it. There are a lot of things she should have done that night.

“But you didn’t, so it doesn’t really matter.” She flinches under the weight of his scrutiny, unable to hide the hurt in her eyes.

“I tried, I really did,” she stammers, pleading with him to understand the difficult choices she had to make that night, to understand that she never wanted anybody to get hurt, least of all him. She wants to tell him that Beifong promised it would be safe, that she assured her Amon would take one look at the arena and run away, tail between his legs, but those just feel like empty excuses now, maybe they always were.

“Well look what good that got me,” he scoffs wryly. He is innately aware that his anger is misdirected, but it doesn’t matter because it feels good to hurt her, to watch her feel a semblance of the turmoil he has been shouldering since that night.

“I don’t know what to say,” she admits, “there are so many things I would change about that night, but I can’t.”

“Change what? Don’t lie, you’re just happy it’s not you.”

“That’s not true,” she snaps defensively, even though she thinks it might be a little true because she would be lying if she said she would switch places with him that night. But she knows that he doesn’t deserve this, and in losing the match, the fire ferrets inadvertently played into his demise.

“Then what? What would you have changed?”

The answer lies somewhere between everything and nothing, but she’s not quite sure where to begin looking for it.

He takes her silence as an answer with a dry and humorless smile. “That’s exactly what I thought.”

“I didn’t do this to you, and you know that,” she retorts, her sympathy wearing thin.

“You might as well have.”

As soon as he says it, he wishes he could take it back because her whole body flinches at the implication, her eyes widening with shock and guilt, and he knows that he has gone too far, that he might as well have poured fire flakes on an open wound. She’s quiet for a second and he wonders what is going through her mind, wonders if he has just crossed a line that cannot be uncrossed.

“I’m sorry,” she says after a moment, her voice cracks and she lowers her eyes to stare at the her shoes, “I know that I fucked up, Tahno. I just- I wanted you to know that I’m gonna get him, okay?”

Silence. And then she’s turning away, and there is an apology on his lips, but he can’t seem to say it.

“If you need anything, Tenzin can help. Feel free to write him, or me…”

She’s a few steps away when he name falls from his lips, and when she turns back towards him, she is hopeful, like a baby turtleduck getting thrown breadcrumbs, and he wants to say he’s sorry, to tell her that this is no more her fault than it is his own, but he thinks maybe she’s better off without him anyway. Besides, she probably would rather forget he even existed and move on with her life, maybe deep down he wants the same, so instead he tries to make the choice for her.

“Don’t hold your breath, princess.”

She lets out a breath and nods sadly. Just like that, she is gone, and the station fades back to gray.

And he doesn’t know how to explain it, but it feels like the world is in slow motion once again without her catalysis.

_Maybe it’s better this way?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this was only going to be a oneshot, but I felt like it had a lot of potential, so I decided to make it a full on story! Updates will probably be slow, but I hope it's still enjoyable! Constructive criticism always welcome!


	3. Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it’s because she let herself get carried away, lost in gray eyes and rolling skies, let herself feel things she swore to avoid, and then she wanted more, maybe even let herself hope for it, and she’s still not sure why. What did she want from him? Even more, what did he want from her? Was she just a prize for him to win up until the moment he felt inferior to her. Maybe he just wanted a distraction from pretty faces without brains, and maybe she just wanted to spite her teammates. But then he touched her and set something alight, and when they rolled together like the tides, she knew he felt it too, but she fucked up. She failed him.

She never liked dancing, at least not the way they did it in Republic City. It all felt meaningless and shallow. In the South Pole, dancing was based on heritage, on ancestry and connection. When she danced, she felt close to Tue and La, like the moon was in her stomach and the ocean was embracing her. In Republic City, dance was perverted to something far more hollow, and it made her homesick for tradition, for drums and ritual and a shared trajectory. 

Jazz was even worse than dancing. It was annoying and unpredictable. She greatly disliked how structureless it was, how quickly it changed direction and left her behind, the melody speeding away like rabid eel hound. Really she’d rather not be here at all, ever since the tournament, she had been avoiding Mako and Bolin without explanation, and her absence had been noticed. She felt like she didn't yet have the words to explain to them why she needed space, why they would be smart to let their friendship sizzle out. They’d never believe her if she told them that they’re better off without her, so she figured she would let them come to that conclusion themselves. 

She had misjudged their powers of deduction because tonight they showed up at Air Temple Island unannounced, Asami in tow, to kidnap her for a night of jazz and dancing, neither of which she likes. She tried to get out of it, to push blame on Tenzin because _he really needs me here to take care of the kids,_ and _I really should be focusing on airbending, you guys,_ but when Pema overhears, she laughs and insists that they go have fun because they won't be young forever.

Thanks, Pema.

So here she is, in a piano bar that's too crowded, surrounded by music she doesn’t like and wishing she had come up with a better lie. She sneaks a glance across the table to watch Mako and Asami talk in hushed whispers, Mako’s smile is heartbreakingly soft, as he wraps a piece of her hair around his finger and tugs playfully. He looks at her like she is the first tulip to top out of the thawed spring soil and he is just happy to behold it. Korra wants to look away, suddenly feeling like she is intruding on a moment that was never hers to see, a voyeur in a crowd of strangers, but something about the way Mako is smiling softly is too tragic to ignore. Asami tears her eyes away from Mako and catches her eye, smiling sweetly. Korra blushes, acutely aware that she has caught her spying, and quickly takes a sip of her drink.

“So, Korra,” Asami says with a sly smile, leaning in mischievously, like she’s about to share the world’s juiciest secret, “any male suitors in the city yet?”

Korra coughs, nearly spitting out her drink, caught off guard, and unsure how to respond. She’s never been very good at girl talk, and Asami seems like the type of woman who’s great at it, like she knows all the right questions to ask to wear her down, to get her to spill every locked up secret with a smile. Instead of responding, Korra lets out a nervous laugh and shrugs her shoulders, hoping that Asami will get the hint.

“Come on,” Asami giggles, leaning in even further, her eyes twinkling devilishly “You can’t expect me to believe that nobody has offered to buy you dinner yet, you’re the Avatar for Spirit's sake!”

“Not really,” Korra says nervously, “I mean, I’ve been pretty busy between the probending and the task force and airbending. Besides, Tenzin would never allow it.” She avoids looking at Mako, so desperately wanting this conversation to be over because this feels like walking on thin ice.

“What about Tahno?” Bolin chimes in before Korra has the chance to change the subject, “He did offer you those ‘private lessons’ ” He wiggles his eyebrow suggestively and jabs her in the side with his elbow, and suddenly her stomach is doing somersaults at the mention of his name.

“A Wolfbat?” Asami gasps, “How taboo! Did you ever take him up on it?” She seems delighted by the scandal, reaching her arms across the table to grab onto Korra’s wrist dramatically.

Suddenly, the room is too small and the music is too loud, and all Korra can muster is a pathetic shake of the head. Her eyes dart to Mako’s, and she finds him already looking at her, mouth in a tense frown.

“Why not?” 

Before Korra has a chance to answer, Mako is leaning forward to rest his palms on the table, “Because Tahno is a bad guy.” The way he says it sends a shiver down Korra’s spine because how can he be so sure of that, how can he pretend to know what is in Tahno’s heart because from her perspective he’s not bad, he’s just lost. Besides, good and evil are entirely subjective, and she is still not sure whose job it is to separate the two. She wonders if maybe it's the Avatar's job.

Asami drops Korra’s wrist, deflated, the thrill of the gossip lost. “It’s a shame what happened to them,” she says, suddenly very somber.

Bolin nods in agreement, but Mako shakes his head, “They had it coming. Cheaters never win.”

A sad trumpet cuts through and then there is silence as they all recover from the whirlwind of their exchange. Mako excuses himself hastily and slides out of the booth to buy another round of drinks, obviously still a little riled up, and the rest of them settle into comfortable small talk. Bolin people watches pointing out strangers in the crowd and telling Korra their fictitious life stories. The blond with the feather hair piece was a research scientist by day and a wanted bank robber by night. The trumpeter was a divorced father of three who was 4 months late on alimony. He asks her to dance once, but she just smiles and says she’s too sore from airbending practice. This goes on for a few songs, until the music changes dramatically, morphing into a rancorous swing, and Bolin smiles beside her and stands up quickly, bowing low to Asami and offering her his hand for a dance. She laughs and grabs his outstretched hand and suddenly, they are off, a whirlwind of beauty and delight.

Her eyes wander around the bar and settle on a plume of cigarette smoke, fragrant and fleeting, and for a moment she is mesmerized by how quickly it disappears, nothing more than a memory.

“Earth to Korra,” Mako says, sliding back into the booth. She rips her eyes away from the smoke and gives him a uncomfortable smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Because truthfully, she’s not quite sure that she wants to be alone with him, at least not after being interrogated about her love life. 

“You’ve been busy,” he says, but what he really wants to do is ask why she’s been avoiding him like the plague because it’s painfully obvious that that’s what’s been going on, and if he’s being honest, he’s worried about her. She hasn’t been the same since the tournament, and maybe some part of him wants to be the one to comfort her, or maybe he's just worried that somebody has been doing it instead.

“Yeah,” she muses, taking a sip of a drink that is too sweet and wanting to be anywhere else, “Tenzin has really been pushing me to train harder.” It’s not exactly a lie. Tenzin has been pushing her harder as of late; she wonders if he feels civil war in the air too, if he lays awake at night fearing the future of Republic City without a fully realized Avatar to protect it. If he does, he hasn’t shared these fears with her, but he has urged her now, more than ever, to focus on the spirits.

There is awkwards silence, and she breaks eye contact to watch Bolin drop Asami into a deep dip. The raven haired girl smiles and throws her head back laughing, and Korra can’t help but wonder how she learned to trust like that, how she learned to fall and be caught and to smile the whole time. In many ways, she wants that, wants to feel her stomach drop and her heart stop and to enjoy the thrill of the fall because she knows she will not break, knows that there will be someone to catch her.

When she looks back at Mako, he is still staring at her, but his face has changed, and suddenly it feels like he can see straight through her. All at once she is very nervous, like she is standing on the edge of a cliff, chock full of potential energy, and she has the choice to fall and trust him to catch her.

“Be honest, Korra, just this once,” he says quietly, his voice very serious, barely audible above the jazz.

And maybe she longs for the fall, to jump and feel nothing but air, and maybe part of her foolishly hopes that Mako would catch her or, at the very least, soften the blow. Or maybe she knows that he can spot a fib from a mile away, and it’s not worth lying anymore, not when he's looking at her so softly and she can feel her stomach doing backflips and her cheeks getting red.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about The Wolfbats lately.”

His jaw clenches reflexively, caught off guard by her honesty. His mind flashes back to sore backs and high necklines and guilty words, and really he should just be happy that she is finally telling the truth, but he can’t shake the feeling that digging deeper will unveil more than he bargained for. He takes a sip of his drink, deciding whether to bite. Ultimately, his morbid curiosity wins.

“What about them?”

She plucks a cherry from her drink and separates it from its stem, dropping the fruit onto her napkin. She knots the stem once, then twice, trying to choose her words carefully.

“Do you actually think that they deserve what happened to them?.”

The question catches him off guard. What had happened to them was tragic, but to be honest he had been trying not to think too much about it because even if the Wolfbats were bad people, there were sure to be helpless casualties at the hands of Amon in the future. To Amon, it surely didn’t matter whether The Wolfbats were bad or good. If given the opportunity, he would have just as easily taken Bo or Korra’s bending, and they were the antithesis of bad. But he knows that the question isn’t whether the Wolfbats were good, it was whether they deserved their tragic crescendo and that is a far more complicated inquiry. He suddenly regrets his rash choice of words from earlier.

“What do you think?” he replies, trying to gauge her own reaction, unsure of where this is going. Maybe she just needs someone to assuage her guilt, to remind her that she did everything she could, that next time she’ll be faster than Amon, smarter.

“I don’t know,” she says earnestly. Throwing the stem back into her drink. She doesn’t know what she wants him to say, maybe she’s just searching for the closure that, unsurprisingly, her last encounter with Tahno did not provide. Instead, she left the station feeling more lost than ever, and maybe, if she could just convince herself that Tahno deserved this, maybe she could move on, forget about her greatest failure and learn how to live life again without this cloying guilt. Because even if she’s not at fault for Tahno’s loss, she feels the weight of his loss as if it is her own as if the elements have shrunk away from her, and she is further from spiritual enlightenment than ever.

“Maybe they did,” he says, sensing her hesitance, “They were cheaters, after all.”

“We all cheat sometimes,” she points out, remembering the way her own lips had crashed against Mako’s, the thrill of broken rules and forgotten partners.She spots Asami and Bolin in the crowd, the music is coming to a crescendo and soon the song will change again, but she’s not sure she wants to be around to hear it.

He raises an eyebrow, acutely aware of the implication, but finding it hard to equate the two. The Wolfbats had cheated and lied their way to the top, nearly killing their opponents in the process. He had simply kissed Korra back, but maybe he is a bad person for not regretting it,and he definitely is a bad person for wanting to do it again because he can’t shake the feeling he’s losing her, and even though it’s not fair, he doesn’t want that.

“Some cheating is worse than others,” he tries justifying.

“I don’t know about that,” she says, shaking her head with a sad smile, the swing of the trumpet trails off and is replaced by wistful piano “maybe we deserve it too.” Before he has a chance to respond, she’s sliding out of the booth and throwing on her coat, “I think I’m going to head home.”

“Wait,” he says, pushing himself out of the booth after her and grabbing her wrist, “You don’t mean that.”

A breath catches in her throat as she turns to face him. Her body is surprisingly close to his, and suddenly he’s finding it hard to remember what exactly they were talking about, to think about anything but the way her lips are parted deliciously with confusion. In this light, her blue eyes look closer to black, like Yue Bay during a full moon, and he feels for a moment like he may drown in them, what he wouldn;t give to crash into her. But then he remembers where they are and drops her wrist awkwardly, taking a knee jerk step back and shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, because all at once she feels very tired and very alone, and even if she didn't crash and burn, this definitely wasn’t what she had hoped for.

“Let me walk you home,” he tries again, but his voice is husky and he knows that she is already gone, already halfway out the door, and once again he is losing her. The piano is slow and he wants to grab her now and pull her back in and bury his nose in her shoulder. Maybe she’s right, maybe he does deserve it because he doesn’t feel like a very good person right now. He has Asami. That should be more than enough, but it’s easy to forget she exists when Korra looks at him with those effulgent, doe eyes.

She shakes her head like she can read his mind, and then she is gone, swallowed by the inky night, and he watches her go, befuddled. He wants to go after her, to tell her that, at the very least, she doesn’t deserve it, that she is better than he has ever been, ever could be, but his feet are stuck and his tongue is lodged in his throat. Asami’s arms snake around him from behind, and her chin settles softly on his shoulder as she whispers sweetly in his ear for a dance, even though the music sounds somber and he wants nothing more than to go home and watch Korra’s window and long for more than this. Instead, he grabs Asami by the hand and rocks her until his stomach has settled and then some because he knows she deserves so much more. 

.

..

.

She doesn’t want to go home yet, not when her heart is in her stomach and her wrist is on fire. Instead she lets her feet carry her to Yue Bay and slips off her boots, rolling up her pants to stand knee deep in the cold water. It’s a full moon, the clouds are covering it, but she can feel it in her core. Seems like there is always a storm rolling in recently, like she hasn’t seen the sun in ages. She lets her feet sink into the sand, throws her head back and breathes. She doesn’t know exactly what she wanted from Mako because truthfully there is nothing he could have said to make her feel any less shit about her part in The Wolfbats fall from greatness. Maybe she just wants some reason to hate Tahno, some reason to forget about him like he so obviously wants to forget about her. Or maybe she had just hoped that Mako could offer her more, that when he grabbed her wrist he wouldn’t let go because maybe she just wants someone to look at her like he looks at Asami, like she is beautiful and fascinating and more than just the Avatar.

She stands in the water until she can’t feel her toes, only then resigning herself to the shore, falling onto her back into the damp embrace of the sand. When she closes her eyes she sees him there at the police station, greasy and tired and no better off because of her, and she wonders if Tahno really means it, if he thinks that this is all her fault, if he really believes the best thing she could do with him is disappear forever. She also wonders why she cares so much, why it matters whether or not he accepts her apology. She hasn’t expected that from his teammates of the triads, so why him?

Maybe it’s because she let herself get carried away, lost in gray eyes and rolling skies, let herself feel things she swore to avoid, and then she wanted more, maybe even let herself hope for it, and she’s still not sure why. What did she want from him? Even more, what did he want from her? Was she just a prize for him to win up until the moment he felt inferior to her. Maybe he just wanted a distraction from pretty faces without brains, and maybe she just wanted to spite her teammates. But then he touched her and set something alight, and when they rolled together like the tides, she knew he felt it too, but she fucked up. She failed him.

Now he wants nothing to do with her, but she can’t fight the feeling that she needs to fix this because… well, she’s not really sure why. Because he awakened something in her? Because she genuinely believes that beneath his cold exterior he still cares about her, maybe even wants her too? Because she needs to make it up to him one way or another to escape the endless loop of self hatred and crippling anxiety she has been feeling as of late? Because she’s his Avatar too? Maybe that’s why she sought comfort in Mako, practically begged for a reason to wash herself of her sins, but it didn’t work. She just ended up feeling more confused and more alone than ever. Instead of falling and being caught, she jumped and woke up before the crash, all her energy lost jumping through figurative hoops to justify her own desire for closure. 

Mako had looked at her like he knew, and he had tried his best to tread lightly, to remove her from guilt without implicating himself, but they both know that there is blame to be placed on the both of them. Blame on her for kissing him, for lying, for falling for him and wanting more, and blame on him for actively ensuring that nobody else can have her, not when he’s sunk his claws into her. Maybe part of her likes that, likes that she occupies such a large portion of his mind rent free.

She lays until her back hurts and her shirt is soaked through with ground water. It isn’t until she hears the clocktower strike midnight and the moon peaks out for a moment from behind the clouds, that she finds the strength to pull herself to her feet and stumble back to the ferry, more tired and more confused than ever. Because, not for the first time, she’s completely unsure what comes next. One thing is for certain, she needs to talk to Tahno one more time, this time with a plan, or at the very least something a little last half baked than their last few conversations. There’s so much she still needs to say but where the hell should she even start.

_She dreams of chamomile tea, sweet and scalding._

_It burns her throat, but she doesn’t care._

_She drinks anyway._

_._

_.._

_._

Everything moves in slow motions: the streetlights, the waves, the clouds. Tahno feels numb and greasy, and when he closes his eyes for too long, the world starts spinning, so instead, he keeps his eyes open, focusing on the water crashing on the shore of the bay. He doesn’t leave his apartment much these days, but tonight he needed booze, so he stumbled out the door, drunk and subdued. Without rhyme or reason, his feet led him to the water. This isn’t the first time he’s found himself washed up on the beach, longing for the impossible, pulled perhaps by the familiarity of a full moon. He used to feel it in his stomach; it felt like helium bubbling through him, like the water in him was alive and pulsing, but now it just feels hollow. 

The clouds part and for a brief moment the sky lights up as the moon is revealed. In it’s light, he sees her down the beach, splayed out on the sand, ethereal. She sits up, resting back on her elbows and throws her head towards the sky, breathing in deep. He thinks he must be dreaming because what are the chances of this? He thinks about pinching himself, but is afraid of breaking the illusion because even if she is just a mirage, he feels lucky just to behold her, a guardian amongst men. There is weight on her shoulders that he could never understand, and suddenly he feels very sad for her, for the youth she will never be allowed to have. 

Part of him wants to approach her, to fall to his knees in a drunken stupor and apologize for all that she has lost, for contributing to that weight on her shoulders. He wonders what she would say. Would she care to hear it? Would it even matter at this point? How could he ever pay back the unwarranted kindness she had shown him when he was at his lowest? Without his bending he is useless, meaningless, a line without a hook, and she is the Avatar, master of the elements. He does not deserve her sympathy. 

As quickly as it came, the moon is swallowed mercilessly by the clouds and she disappears into darkness, nothing but a fleeting memory. He secretly wishes it would come back, grant him another moment to bask in her glow, but it stays away, maybe the universe knows that he is not ready to face her yet, not when he is so weak. The next time he sees her, he needs a plan, a purpose, something to show her beyond his drunken repentance, but for now, he needs a bottle and a chaser and his own bed, so he stumbles away from the shore to find an open liquor store. 

In one of the quieter alleys, a woman shoves a flier into his hands. On the front is Amon’s mask, looming and severe. On the back is a map and a date.

“The revolution is upon us,” she whispers hopefully, her hand resting softly on his arm, and then she is gone, swallowed by the alley, and he is left with a proposition and a crazy idea. 

_“This could work…”_   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life has been busy, but I hope you enjoy this installment!

**Author's Note:**

> Help, I can't stop writing Tahnorra! I'm not sure if I love how this turned out, but it was a good challenge. Currently a one-shot, but may make into a full fledged story. Sorry if the writing is rusty, I'm still trying to remember how to do this. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy!


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